


Hunger

by fansofcollisions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (sort of), Eating Disorders, Gen, basically i have a lot of feelings about Dean and his relationship with food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:37:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fansofcollisions/pseuds/fansofcollisions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean stays at a friend’s house for a few days. He doesn’t like the uncertainty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

Dean makes a friend this year, his first. He mentions him to Dad in passing, for no reason at all except that he can. They’re at a diner, a special treat, so Dean knows what’s coming next and the knowledge turns the food to ashes in his mouth. “Jason said he puts blueberry syrup on them.” He sees a few of the crinkles of worry fade from Dad’s eyes and wonders if he’s done something right. The next bite of sticky pancake tastes like heaven.

Sammy’s barely tall enough to see above the tabletop of the booth. Dean hands him pieces of melon from his plate.

“Jason?” Dean smiles because Dad’s voice is happy and he doesn’t know why, but he’s glad. He almost forgets why there’s a plate of hot food in front of him instead of stale bread and bologna.

Two days later, it’s 4:26 and Dean finds himself on Jason’s doorstep with a backpack and a blanket and without Sammy and he remembers.

 _Four days, that’s all_. And Sam gone too, to another house of well-meaning parents (he’s always been good at making friends). Dean’s gut churns. Did he feed Sam this morning? Yes, but the milk was almost expired. He prays Sam won’t get sick.

Things are alright, at first. Different, but he’s ok. Nobody else is home so they watch a movie, Jason grinning all the while because there are guns and swearing and he can’t believe his dad got it for him for his birthday. Dean thinks the gore looks fake and the hero needs to clean his gun more often if he doesn’t want it to jam.

He looks at the clock. Sam and Dean always eat dinner at six fifteen. It’s now six thirty. His stomach growls at him. He wills it to be silent.

Jason’s mom comes home when they’re halfway through the movie. Dean fidgets. Jason asks when dinner is. His mom tells him half an hour. Dean is soothed, but only slightly. He doesn’t relax. His hands clench.

By seven fifteen there’s a smell of hot marinara sauce wafting from the kitchen but the mom’s on the phone with her sister and it doesn’t sound like she’s getting off anytime soon. Dean hasn’t heard a word of the dialogue in over ten minutes. The clock ticks. He eyes it constantly.

Jason’s dad is working late, so it’s the three of them eating together at the little kitchen table. The clock says 7:32. Dean swings his legs and grips the bottom of the wooden chair.

“Is that too much, sweetie?” His plate now holds a portion of spaghetti, twice the size of what he’s used to (the dollar thirty nine cans of animal shaped pasta make a mound about the size of a large coffee mug, which is how he tends to quantity food, seeing as it’s his only measuring cup). Sam’s little eyes would widen at such a serving.

Dean would take three times that if she offered it.

He shakes his head, and daydreams of stealing the bowl and locking himself in the bathroom and eating mouthful after mouthful until his fork scraped the bottom of the cloudy metal. Before he knows it, most of his plate is gone and the panic sets in as he stares at the dwindled pile. He’s not full enough, and there won’t be any food till morning, and he doesn’t know when they’ll eat breakfast, or if this family eats breakfast at all, or whether his dad will show up out of the blue with a sleepy Sam drooling into the shoulder of his leather jacket, beckoning and off to the next adventure with no time for stops or microwaved breakfast burritos from gas stations and Dean will be hungry and he won’t be able to help it.

His plate’s clean and Jason’s staring at him pleadingly so he stops trying to sweep the last few dregs of sauce up with his fork. There’s a drip of red hanging near the corner of the porcelain. He resists the urge to swipe it with his finger. The mom asks him if he wants more. He fights a war in himself and shakes his head, _no,_ staring at the silver bowl all the while and wanting.

They finish the movie. Dean can’t tell if his stomach is protesting because he’s put too much into it or not enough, but either way it twists within him like a coiled snake and he hugs himself under his flannel shirt, squeezing his sides _1, 2, 3_ and feeling the flesh give way to ribs under his skin, protruding and hard against the bones of his hands. He sighs. Jason doesn’t notice a thing. It’s a good movie, he decides. Stupid to miss it worrying. He chastises himself for getting so worked up over nothing. It’s not like he’s going to starve. Hell, he’ll probably eat better here than he ever does when it’s just him and Sam.

It’s only a few nights. Everything will be fine.

Jason’s floor is uncomfortable but that’s fine. He’s slept on worse. At least the carpet’s clean and he’s got an unrolled sleeping bag to lie on and a pillow that doesn’t smell like years of ingrained cigarette smoke. His friend is asleep within minutes, soft steady breaths in the darkness. Dean holds his own and thinks about Sammy, wonders how he’s getting on. Wonders if he’s getting fed enough.

 _He’s six years old, he shouldn’t be alone at a stranger’s house._ The thought repeats in his head, fighting for dominance with _but Dad said so and he knows best_. Dean’s gut continues to roil. He tries to stop thinking of Sam. He thinks about his stomach instead. He doesn’t sleep. He wonders how much noise the stairs make, whether they’d creak if he snuck downstairs. Wonders whether anyone would notice if the bowl of leftover pasta was a little shallower in the morning. He wonders all night long.

There’s breakfast in the morning, and a packed lunch for school with a granola bar and sandwich and apple and juice box and Dean could weep from relief, if he wasn’t so worried about Sam. But his brother is alive and well at school the next day, so he gives him his apple and sticks the granola bar in the bottom of his bag and eats the sandwich in three bites, and wonders about dinner.

Dad’s back on time, which is rare. He picks up Dean first and tells him to say goodbye to Jason. They’re moving on tonight. Sam will be sad, Dean thinks. He is too, but a guilty part of him hopes this is justification enough for a conciliatory trip to the diner with the pancakes. Might as well hope for something.

They reach Illinois by midday. The motel’s been paid in advance, two weeks. Dad leaves, no time to lose. The red lights of the standard digital alarm clock read 2:53. Sam settles down in front of the tv. Dean watches him.

At 6:09 Dean gets up and digs through his bag. Dad isn’t back yet. He pulls out two granola bars and passes one to Sam, who tears it open and eats ravenously. Dean waits until the clock has flickered past the five before slowly unwrapping his own.

Dean watches Sam as he eats and feels content. His stomach has not been this full in days. 


End file.
